re: Langstrom Alone: An Epilogue to Claws of Metal

The towering figure of Langstrom, the metal worgen, strongest of Synphum’s creations, stumbled through the dark of the Duskwood trees, relying on his arcane vision to spot anyone who dared to follow him. But even with all his pride, Langstrom knew that if the Wardens found him, he wouldn’t last 5 minutes.

Langstrom cursed the young wolf as he stumbled on, the machinery in his metal legs dented, broken or barely functioning after the recent battle. The rhythmic sound of hissing and metallic grating filled his head as he moved on. In the past, Synphum, his master and creator, would've been able to repair the armour. After his death, however, Langstrom had no one to help him.

Mashira. That’s what the old wolf and the she-elf had called him. Another name to add to Langstrom’s growing list.

Langstrom stopped, leaning on a nearby tree with his armoured arm, the machinery hissing as his joints moved and pistons shifting as he extended his arm to the bark of the tree. Though his arm was still flesh, the runed metal and gnomish technology that covered it was anything but. Though it enhanced his strength and magical ability, it was extremely difficult to remove without the proper equipment. That made fixing it by himself a near impossible task.

The metal plates of the full body armour slid over each other as he leaned over, the runes glowing a pale green, sometimes flickering to arcane blue. Langstrom growled harshly, placing his hands over his ears as the ringing sound carried on. The arrow had exploded right next to his head, deafening him and knocking him to the ground. Though his left ear could once again detect the slightest changes of sound around him, the right remained silent. Langstrom prayed that this wasn't permanent.

Once again, Langstrom's massive form doubled over, and another viscous growl followed. Synphum's fel elixir was still burning through his veins. It had allowed him to smash through the arcane barriers and almost destroy the Wardens... but many years of its use had taken its toll. To escape the Duskwood lab, Langstrom had injected himself with a very early version of the elixir. It had nearly killed him, but had given him the strength he needed to fight the Wardens. A fight that ended the same way that it had the last couple of times. None of the Wardens were dead, and Langstrom had once again survived.

Langstrom tilted his head, recalling a fight with the worgen shadow mage. It had been months ago, but the fel burns from the battle still remained. He hadn't seen her with the Wardens in a while. Langstrom growled again, a mixture of pain and rage. Another one on the list.

It was too much of a coincidence that the Wardens were there. Had the traitors sent the Wardens to-

Langstrom's thoughts were suddenly interrupted. His armour. It was humming. The runes on his arm, they had changed colour, just the same way that they did when absorbing magic. But he wasn't under attack... and they had turned... black?

"Langstrom."

The voice tore through his mind, the armour doing nothing to protect him.

A thank you to those who helped uncover the mystery behind the deaths in the Wetlands. The news has been sent to the families of those deceased and Isadore will be researching further into how to behaive around the swamp beast in it's new home away from civilisation.